No Longer Bearing the Cross Alone

Like Simon and Veronica, those in the pews and those in the academy are called to accompany those who are abused by sharing in their pain so that survivors no longer bear this cross alone.

“My God,
My God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46) Like the One who expressed His
abandonment on the cross, many survivors of sexual violence utter a similar
despair as they try to make sense of their lives in light of this trauma. For
survivors in Indian Christian churches, this forsakenness is amplified by the mechanisms of shame that structure the
interpersonal dynamics of the family and the social structures of the ethno-religious
community. Shame is a powerful social force precisely because it encourages concealment, communal conformity, and the denial of trauma.
It promotes the perception of exterior health rather than the truth of interior
healing.

Recently, after hearing the brave testimonies of sexual abuse survivors at a church youth retreat, Jennifer Zachariah and Ashley Abraham launched Project SHHH7214 (She or He Has Hope, Psalms 72:14). Their website catalyzed important ecumenical discussions throughout the second generation of this immigrant community. By offering a platform where survivors could post their stories anonymously without fear of retaliation, survivors found a space to articulate their trauma and learn that they were not alone. With nearly fifty stories posted, these writers bear their souls as they discuss gender expectations, the shame of abuse within the family, and the secrecy expected to preserve family honor.

After
reading many of these stories, however, I was left with questions. Why are
these traumatic experiences so pervasive in my community? Why are we so
ineffective in interrupting these cycles of violence that perpetuate themselves
generationally? How might we become more like Simon of Cyrene and Veronica, who
traditionally accompanied Jesus as he was being crucified, so that these
survivors no longer bear this cross alone?

The Construction of Indian Femininity and Masculinity

Sexual
and domestic violence dominates the concerns of Indian feminists. The
pervasiveness of this theme suggests that this trauma is much more common than publicly
acknowledged. One major reason for this omnipresence concerns the social norms
that construct femininity and masculinity in Indian contexts.

From a
young age, women are socialized into constructions of femininity that emphasize
submissiveness, self-sacrifice, and social dependency. Before marriage, a woman
is defined almost exclusively by her sexual purity. Any public awareness of the loss of this
purity leads to shame, damage to family honor, and social ostracism. Open
discussions of sexuality with parents and community elders are rare. Many young
women are left with the stereotypes of popular culture, remaining largely
clueless about how their sexuality can be integrated into a meaningful life with
healthy relationships.

Masculinity,
on the other hand, is defined by male dominance, virility, and the ability to control
a woman’s sexuality as reflective of his honor, not hers. While sexual purity
is viewed as a woman’s responsibility, the fulfillment of sexual needs is seen
as fundamental to a man’s nature. He hardly faces the severity of social
consequences suffered by a young woman for the loss of virginity. Because the
taboo for healthy discussion also applies to him, many young men gain their
sexual knowledge from pornography or through limited sexual encounters with individuals
judged as exploitable. Such exploitability is often determined by age,
caste/class status, or the perception of lower morality. Within this patriarchal
system, sexually abused males are rendered even more invisible than females because
they are socially conditioned to believe that the loss of masculinity is a greater
shame then the loss of virginity.

The Silencing Mechanisms of Shame

Though
not exclusive to Indian Christians, the construction of these gender norms
combined with the silencing mechanisms of shame contribute to the prevalence of
sexual violence in this community, both before and after marriage. As many of
the anonymous stories from Project SHHH7412 reveal, sexual abusers are not deranged
strangers or perverts roaming the streets seeking vulnerable targets. Most
perpetrators belong within the family and community, taking advantage of the
atmosphere of familiarity and trust.

Many of
these perpetrators understand the value placed on family reputation, honor, and
communal harmony and use the mechanisms of shame to their advantage. Older
cousins, community elders, family friends, and religious figures among others
know that the balance of power rests in their favor, especially when they interact
with children or teenagers. They shame the victim into thinking that either no
one will believe them or that it will cause a rupture in communal harmony.
Other tactics include attacking the reputation of the abused by informing them
that they will be forever labeled as “that
girl [or boy],” “dirty,” or “sinful.”

Even if
perpetrators are confronted, intervention can be difficult within the cultural
scripts designed to protect them, particularly if they are men in positions of
power. Not only might these offenders adamantly deny the abuse as a
misunderstanding, but any confession might minimize the harm done or blame the
victim for being a source of temptation. These silencing tactics are powerful
precisely because they divert attention away from holding the perpetrator
accountable.

The
problems are multiplied when power-based violence enters into the context of marriage.
In Indian communities, men are socialized to think they have a marital right to
their wives’ bodies. Legal and cultural norms assume that consent to marriage
obligates a woman to fulfill her husband’s needs, with her needs viewed as
secondary or nonexistent. Especially when the sexual act is devoid of intimacy
and tenderness, women are left feeling empty, objectified, and alone – unaware
that they may have just experienced marital rape. Rather than enhancing the
marital relationship, sex is reduced to an expression of male dominance and
female reproductivity.

Raised to
preserve family honor above her own, women feel pressure to keep their
marriages together by masking issues of emotional, physical, and sexual
violence. This pressure is particularly strong because marriage defines her
social status within the Indian Christian community. Because shame arises from
the internal judgment of how others may perceive her or her family, survivors
are expected to maintain an image of domestic bliss. All experiences of abuse,
within and outside of marriage, are regarded as a private family matter. Even if
the issue is raised in public, many are advised to silently bear this cross for
the salvation of their family. Such secrecy distorts the Christian message, internalizes
shame, and perpetuates a cycle of violence as part of the next generation’s
inheritance.

Interrupting Cycles of Violence: The Need for Political Theology

During
the season of Lent, Christians of different denominations pray the Stations of the Cross, which use both
Scripture and Tradition to meditate on the sequence of events that led from
Jesus’ condemnation to his crucifixion. Because this prayer is meant to inspire
Christian discipleship, those who reflect on these stations encounter figures
such as Simon of Cyrene and Veronica. The fifth station describes how after
Jesus stumbles, the Roman soldiers pull Simon from the crowd and force him to
carry Jesus’ cross for some distance. Though initially reluctant, Simon is
given the chance to accompany Jesus in His suffering, alleviating His pain for
just a moment by participating in His cross. In the sixth station, Veronica
courageously emerges from the crowd of passive bystanders to tenderly wipe the
sweat and blood from Jesus’ face. In the battered and bruised face of Jesus,
she sees the face of God.

According
to political theologian Johann Baptist Metz, the memoria passionis, the memory of Christ’s passion, rebukes
Christians who silence the cries of the poor, the forgotten, and the abused. If
the mechanisms of shame prevalent in Indian churches conceal abuse as a private
family matter, then the dangerous memory
of Jesus’ passion reveals that this wound is a social, political, and
theological matter. As such, these cries reveal the communal structures of sin that
perpetuate these cycles of violence in every generation. To cover these acts of
violence under the veil of secrecy distorts how the ripple effects of sin harm the
relationships that form families and communities. Silenced by the mechanisms of
shame, these wounds become a scandal and counter-witness to the Gospel.

The
memory and presence of Christ crucified, however, offers the possibility of
healing through solidarity, accountability, and a preferential option for the
abused. This dangerous memory at the heart of the Christian narrative demands the
socio-political response of solidarity. To be in solidarity is to risk stepping
beyond the crowd of passive bystanders who are governed by social norms and to
interrogate the status quo for its complicity in sin. Solidarity is the
response of the bystander who recognizes the gaze of Christ crucified in the
faces of the battered and the bruised and rushes to them with tenderness and
mercy. It is a share in their cross, which risks taking on the shame of
associating with “that girl [or boy],”
the “dirty” one, and the “sinner” without fear.

Accountability
is also important for communal healing. Christians must discern between those
who have sinned and those who have been sinned against. Far too often, those
who have experienced sexual violence believe they have sinned. Rather, they
have been sinned against and their suffering is a physical and existential participation
in Christ’s crucifixion. Perpetrators of sexual violence must be held
accountable not only because they have sinned against individuals, but because
they have wounded the bonds of trust that hold a family and community together.
To hold perpetrators accountable is not to scapegoat them by the same
mechanisms of shame that dominate the community, but to make them aware of how
their humanity has been robbed of its fullest dignity the moment they rob
another of theirs. Accountability is not the equivalent of revenge, but rather
directed at the interior transformation of perpetrators, allowing the gaze of
Christ crucified to permeate their hearts so that they too may discover the
love of God in the faces of the battered and bruised.

Finally,
a preferential option for the emotionally, physically, and sexually abused
dismantles silencing mechanisms of shame because it resists concealment,
communal conformity, and the denial of trauma. This preference assures
survivors that they will not be retraumatized by their communities when they tell
and retell their stories. Rather than dismissing them, they are heard and
believed. This preference also resists internalized scripts of shame that
prioritize reputation over person. It subverts communal conformity to
prescribed roles so that relationships, both wounded and whole, may be foregrounded
as the actual basis of community. Finally, it recognizes the reality of trauma
and its impact on the lives of survivors, perpetrators, and all who become
aware of this unjust evil.

As an academic discourse, political theologians can further contribute to this preferential option for the abused by allowing this dangerous memory to enter their writing, sensitizing them to the cries of those so often hidden. Such writing sheds light on the pain shared by many across different contexts, interrupting the appearance of health with the possibility of communal healing. Like Simon and Veronica, those in the pews and those in the academy are called to accompany those who are abused by sharing in their pain so that survivors no longer bear this cross alone.

Jaisy A. Joseph is an Assistant Professor of Theology and Religious Studies at Seattle University and a Fellow at the Louisville Institute (2018-2020). With interests primarily in ecclesiology and theological anthropology, her main areas of research involve understandings of unity and difference in the Catholic church, how these definitions have shifted over the centuries, and how erroneous expressions have wounded the bonds of communion between different peoples. These differences are not only intercultural and ecumenical, but also involve the almost-invisible ancient Eastern Catholic churches that have been present since the first centuries in North Africa, the Middle East, South Asia, and Eastern Europe. She is also committed to understanding how globalization and migration have brought all of these differences to the United States in the past fifty years and how these diasporas influence understandings of catholicity for the church of the third millennium.

Aside from the academy, she is very involved in the lay ministry of the SyroMalabar Catholic Diocese of Chicago, which spans across the United States to unite nearly sixty parishes and thirty missions. Her primary concern is to work with the emerging second generation, particularly regarding issues of identity, domestic violence, and intergenerational healing.

Political theology’s prospects for contributing helpfully to movements of resistance to sexual violence depends on the willingness and ability those who contribute to political theology as a discourse to discern and prioritize the kinds of questions that are deemed most urgent by sexual violence survivors themselves and those who have devoted their work to ethically addressing this harm.

If we want to focus on stopping sexual violence we need to ask much more disruptive questions about the conserving influence within Christian political theologies that accompanies their radical critiques.